The wind is blowing, and the skies are grey. The sun of summer is a distant dream, Twelfth Night has been, and Christmas gone away, And joy has faded, vanished from the scene. Across the road a church, its flag a shred, And yet a place of peace against the wind. I toss and turn, uneasy in my bed, and ideas swirl and tumble in my mind. The coffee brewed, the peace of evening come, I scan the screen, while stroking pussy-cat. What's this? A quiz? A Quest? A Geep-ish game? But what's the answer; why, I'll plump for that! What's this? I've won? A present from Doc. Geep? O joy! O bliss! Tonight, sweet dreams, I sleep!